"If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know it is poetry. If i feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know this is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?"
-Emily Dickinson
Sonnet
above the trees black sprinkles flitting down
pieces of heaven gliding more slowly
the ashes shadow glowing fire around
and the snowy clumps are headed lowly
we silenced them and spared no mortal souls
a splash of red taints the heaven higher
baited them gently from their hiding holes
an eerie bird caws, a raven spyer
the fire dances atop snowy beds
it dares not glaze over the blanket white
fire hides arms, legs, torsos, smiles and heads
the town will burn, it burns at morning light
we'll drown this town and burn it to the ground
as snow is falling, falling lightly down
Ode
Blue
Such a color
Indescribably brilliant
Blue
The calm of a clear day
The splash of choppy waters
Clear even winds to toss your hair
Blue
Truth and hope
A feeling of security
A loyal friend standing by
Blue
The sweet jazz flow
Telling stories of love lost
Sad memories
Blue
Everything and nothing
In one world
One universe
One enternity
one
Blue
Memory Poem
Darkness chokes me
Silencing my protest
The twilight life howls
Scratching chirps
impish bush rattling
a sole flickering ember
rays of comfort
ruins of serenity
teeth rattle
testing the depth of chill
the stairs I grew up on have become a prison
each step farther into my cell
fire burns?
Tendrils of smoke alarm my nose
Sending my mind insane
My eyes blur
Shadows form
Surround me
Deeper into my cell
The “click” of a locked door
And soon I am back inside the warmth of home
My poetry is a direct expression of me. I remain unable to write lies or facts I find to be untrue in my poetry. When prompted, I can write for hours on my favorite things, hobbies and people. I can make these things sound so abstract even I question what they mean. But even I am not the leader of my mind. I am ruled by negative thoughts and while I am able to write truly great poetry, it will never be anything other than depressing in the eyes of others.
My main topic in poetry is love and darkness. I can give a creative spin on either; not all of it is negative and not all of it is positive. I suppose I write the most about these topics because I see these the most in my everyday life, and thus can gie endless views on them.
I rarely use end rhymes because they come out sounding “cheery” and that’s rarely the end result I wish to acquire in my writing. More often than not I will use rhymes within sentences and connect them to give my words a flow.
Shel Silverstein
Shel Silverstein is a great writer for everyone because he can relate directly to children while simultaneously reminding adults of their pasts. His rhymes are wonderfully executed, ranging from the obvious to the extreme. They’re playful yet consistent.
If the world was Crazy
If the world was crazy, you know what I'd eat?
A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat,
A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try
Some roasted ice cream or a bicycle pie,
A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast,
An omelet of hats and some crisp cardboard toast,
A thick malted milk made from pencils and daisies,
And that's what I'd eat if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I'd wear?
A chocolate suit and a tie of eclair,
Some marshmallow earmuffs, some licorice shoes,
And I'd read a paper of peppermint news.
I'd call the boys "Suzy" and I'd call the girls "Harry,"
I'd talk through my ears, and I always would carry
A paper umbrella for when it grew hazy
To keep in the rain, if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I'd do?
I'd walk on the ocean and swim in my shoe,
I'd fly through the ground and I'd skip through the air,
I'd run down the bathtub and bathe on the stair.
When I met somebody I'd say "G'bye, Joe,"
And when I was leaving--then I'd say "Hello."
And the greatest of men would be silly and lazy
So I would be king...if the world was crazy.
In “If the World Was Crazy” he shows a bit of his insane mind. There rhyme scheme is steady and predictable but the content of each line isn’t. “If the world was crazy, you know what I'd do? I'd walk on the ocean and swim in my shoe,” This line shows exactly what is going on within the poem. He switches the verb of each common action to make a line of unusual humour.
Sick
"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
In “Sick” he uncovers every excuse children and adults have used and merges them into one huge obscurity. The rhyming plays a small roll, as it just keeps the flow of everything together.
Where the sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
“Where the Sidewalk Ends” is my most favorite of all his poems. It’s thoughtful, describing something so insignificant in a huge, meaningful way. Never before has the end of the sidewalk been viewed as such a boundary, such a transition between worlds. The middle stanza reminds the reader of their childhood. Even if they are already a child, it sends them back into simpler days. From his simple rhymes, to his complex worlds, from his sweet observances, to his terrifying stories, Shel Silverstein will take you to places you never imagined, or back to worlds you dreamed up.
"If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know it is poetry. If i feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know this is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?"
-Emily Dickinson
Sonnet
above the trees black sprinkles flitting down
pieces of heaven gliding more slowly
the ashes shadow glowing fire around
and the snowy clumps are headed lowly
we silenced them and spared no mortal souls
a splash of red taints the heaven higher
baited them gently from their hiding holes
an eerie bird caws, a raven spyer
the fire dances atop snowy beds
it dares not glaze over the blanket white
fire hides arms, legs, torsos, smiles and heads
the town will burn, it burns at morning light
we'll drown this town and burn it to the ground
as snow is falling, falling lightly down
Ode
Blue
Such a color
Indescribably brilliant
Blue
The calm of a clear day
The splash of choppy waters
Clear even winds to toss your hair
Blue
Truth and hope
A feeling of security
A loyal friend standing by
Blue
The sweet jazz flow
Telling stories of love lost
Sad memories
Blue
Everything and nothing
In one world
One universe
One enternity
one
Blue
Memory Poem
Darkness chokes me
Silencing my protest
The twilight life howls
Scratching chirps
impish bush rattling
a sole flickering ember
rays of comfort
ruins of serenity
teeth rattle
testing the depth of chill
the stairs I grew up on have become a prison
each step farther into my cell
fire burns?
Tendrils of smoke alarm my nose
Sending my mind insane
My eyes blur
Shadows form
Surround me
Deeper into my cell
The “click” of a locked door
And soon I am back inside the warmth of home
My poetry is a direct expression of me. I remain unable to write lies or facts I find to be untrue in my poetry. When prompted, I can write for hours on my favorite things, hobbies and people. I can make these things sound so abstract even I question what they mean. But even I am not the leader of my mind. I am ruled by negative thoughts and while I am able to write truly great poetry, it will never be anything other than depressing in the eyes of others.
My main topic in poetry is love and darkness. I can give a creative spin on either; not all of it is negative and not all of it is positive. I suppose I write the most about these topics because I see these the most in my everyday life, and thus can gie endless views on them.
I rarely use end rhymes because they come out sounding “cheery” and that’s rarely the end result I wish to acquire in my writing. More often than not I will use rhymes within sentences and connect them to give my words a flow.
Shel Silverstein
Shel Silverstein is a great writer for everyone because he can relate directly to children while simultaneously reminding adults of their pasts. His rhymes are wonderfully executed, ranging from the obvious to the extreme. They’re playful yet consistent.
If the world was Crazy
In “If the World Was Crazy” he shows a bit of his insane mind. There rhyme scheme is steady and predictable but the content of each line isn’t. “If the world was crazy, you know what I'd do?
I'd walk on the ocean and swim in my shoe,” This line shows exactly what is going on within the poem. He switches the verb of each common action to make a line of unusual humour.
Sick
In “Sick” he uncovers every excuse children and adults have used and merges them into one huge obscurity. The rhyming plays a small roll, as it just keeps the flow of everything together.
Where the sidewalk Ends
“Where the Sidewalk Ends” is my most favorite of all his poems. It’s thoughtful, describing something so insignificant in a huge, meaningful way. Never before has the end of the sidewalk been viewed as such a boundary, such a transition between worlds. The middle stanza reminds the reader of their childhood. Even if they are already a child, it sends them back into simpler days.
From his simple rhymes, to his complex worlds, from his sweet observances, to his terrifying stories, Shel Silverstein will take you to places you never imagined, or back to worlds you dreamed up.